


Tag, You're It

by Isotrope



Category: Devil May Cry, DmC: Devil May Cry
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Minor Injuries, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, Warnings May Change, We don't know anyone named canon here, gratuitous use of tropes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:21:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21756718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isotrope/pseuds/Isotrope
Summary: Its going to be a long four weeks. Someone needs to clean up Red Grave.
Relationships: Nero & V (Devil May Cry), Nero/V (Devil May Cry)
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

A month. 

Nero can do a month. He can. He likes killing demons and cleaning up the streets. He can be patient ( _Nico, stop_ _laughing)._ He can sit back and chew his cud like a dumb cow and _wait_. 

It's only a month. It’s not a problem. 

It’s  _ not _ .

But of course it is. Nero is restless and angry; he wants revenge, redemption, vindication. He wants to  _ act.  _ He can’t just sit still and Nico can’t take his fidgeting so she drops him off in the middle of town and tells him to  _ go play _ . 

Like roaming a crumbling, dying city splattering demon guts from here to kingdom come is some after school program for wayward boys with displaced rage issues. Or maybe it’s just Nero - the only one crazy enough to go crawling through the ruin of destruction that used to be a functioning metropolis - now just a twisted swath of desolation. Buildings with their tops knocked off and chunks of steel and concrete. Jagged remains of foundations and scattered brick and mortar. Downed power lines like electric vines, snaking through the rubble and the glittering stardust of shattered glass. 

Nero picks his way through the streets, picks off the scattered pockets of demonic gatherings he runs across, laughing. These lesser monsters hardly present a challenge - barely enough to distract him from how long he has to wait or the way the rancor in his gut boils over like an unwatched pot when he thinks of it. 

Everything comes rushing back to him every time he shatters another Devil Breaker. He remembers the feeling of tearing flesh, the slick, hot pulse of life rushing out of him as he lay bleeding out on the garage floor. That demon who did that was still out there, his continued existence making a mockery of Nero.

He snarls, taking out his frustration on the last demon in sight, bringing his sword down with enough force to cleave the beast in twain. The two halves fall in two smoking heaps that dissolve into ash. 

Sheathing his sword, Nero uses his real hand to wipe away the blood spattered across his cheek, grimacing as he casts his gaze around him. The street is a causeway of ruptured concrete, the cars swept back, some of them overturned, others piled on top of each other in a heap, several shoved partially through the glass front of a decimated office building. 

The sun glints off the rubble, broken glass scattered and sparkling amid the heaps. Nero can feel the oppressive heat of the day on the back of his neck. It is approaching noon and the city is beginning to warm like an oven, all that concrete and metal baking in the summer swelter, trapped between the buildings, stifling. 

He climbs to the top of a building - one that looks relatively untouched and structurally sound - to get the lay of the land, in hopes of catching a breeze. He finds only dead air and a better view of the destruction that has ravaged Red Grave.

Nero stands, looking down at a wasteland.

It might drive him to madness if he has to roam the wreckage of an entire city for the next three weeks on his own. Face to face with the carnage caused by his failure to stop Urizen the first time, the reckless restlessness surges in Nero's chest. It wraps around his ribs, squeezing and squeezing and squeezing. 

He thinks of Kyrie and the children - of an entire population of people like them - displaced or worse. He has passed so many of the ashy husks that had once been living, breathing people; he almost doesn’t notice them anymore. But they’re everywhere - so many of them, frozen in poses of terror, skewered and sucked dry in an instant. 

Nero thinks maybe half the city's population. Maybe more. And so far he hasn’t seen a single living human.

Whatever he, Nero, can do - skulking through the alleys, sweeping up the trash - it’s not enough. It’s an aftermath, not a rescue mission. The realization feels like food poisoning. He wants to puke, looking out over the city like that. It makes him feel small and helpless. Like…

Like  _ dead weight. _ Dante’s word’s echo in his head and Nero grits his teeth against them, pushing them back, pushing everything  _ back _ . 

Nero doesn’t  _ do _ small and helpless. 

But here he is. The last man standing in Red Grave. Alone against the rising tide of demons, the encroaching sprawl of bloodthirsty qliphoth roots, and his own despair-- 

A beam of purple light erupts into the sky and slices through a building in the distance, sending it toppling. Nero rocks back in surprise and then steadies himself as the ground trembles. The rooftop he stands on groans beneath his feet while other nearby buildings shed loose debris and a cloud of dust rolls through the streets. The light winks out of existence, but Nero has a pretty good idea of where it came from.

He jumps down from the building, heading in that direction, heartened by the idea that maybe he isn’t the last man standing after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A damsel in distress? No. Better.

V is in trouble. One foul step and he rolls his ankle while picking his way down a narrow boulevard that used to host a number of quaint, outdoor cafes and bohemian shops. Now, unfortunately for V, it has become a teeming empusa nest.

It doesn't seem like a problem at first - Griffon and Shadow seem to have it handled. Except--

Except they poked the nest. And it isn't just a few empusa, it's a whole swarm. Angry queen and all.

Nightmare crushes the nest - and a building - in a matter of minutes. Shadow and Griffon and V move through the carnage, putting the writhing beasts out of their misery one by one. By the time he drives his cane through the last twitching corpse, V is exhausted. His ankle is cranky. He thinks it's time to turn in for the day. Except--

Except that isn't going to happen. Because Nightmare's commotion has attracted the attention of every demon in a five block radius. Because V doesn't have the strength to summon Nightmare a second time. Because Shadow and Griffon are swiftly overwhelmed and stalemated by sheer numbers. Because none of his familiars are there to stop a demon from tearing open V's side.

V stumbles back, his injured ankle threatening to topple him. The demons have him cornered at the mouth of an alley.

His gait is currently a hobble at best and he leaves behind a trail of blood as he retreats. Curses be to this frail mortal flesh. He doesn’t dare turn his back on the demons. They are maintaining a slow, predatory distance. Stalking him. As if they have sensed that he is weakened and are waiting for the inevitable. 

And it is. Inevitable. V can feel himself being pulled closer to death by the day, by the hour, and perhaps - now - by the second. Maybe this will be it. He will die here, torn apart by lesser demons.

He hopes it will not be now. He isn't ready. But they're closing in.

V stabs at one when it ventures too close and it reels back, shrieking. But every predator is familiar with the death throes of wounded prey. They sense the end is imminent and they are growing impatient, bold. Another darts in to take the place of the first, hissing and snapping.

V’s back hits something solid - a wall - and he can retreat no further. This is it then. He holds his breath, braces himself for the end, thinks  _ departing; departing; departing: _

The demon’s head explodes in a shower of blood and slime, drenching V with gore. 

"Leaving ruinous fragments of life," V mutters, laughing in shaky relief. His knees won't hold him. He slides slowly down the wall until he is sitting.

“You started the party without me?” A voice calls and V lolls his head, spotting that kid - Nero - standing on top of a nearby rooftop. There's a gun smoking in his hand and his cheeky grin is aimed at V. He hops down from the building, twisting in the air, letting a few more bullets fly before landing smack in the center of the mob of demons.

V barely has time to process Nero’s arrival before he begins cutting into the writhing, shrieking mass of limbs and teeth and talons and otherworldly weapons. With a squawk, Griffon reappears, freed from stalemate and swearing up a storm as he dives back into the fray. Next comes Shadow, driving back the cluster crowded around V.

V watches the fight with blurry vision and a mouth full of the taste of iron. His familiars are sticking close, still moving slowly, fighting defensively, protecting  _ him _ \- but Nero-- Nero is having  _ fun _ . He bounds over and between the snapping jaws and swinging claws, switching seamlessly between his gun and his sword, sometimes nothing but his bare hand ( _ just the one, and how did that happen, hmm? Whose fault was that?).  _ Nero carves through the hordes like child’s play. 

V blinks and the whole world tilts sideways a bit. He thinks he loses time because when he looks again, all the demons are dead and Nero is standing in front of him and… and he doesn’t remember any of that happening. 

Then he blinks again and when he opens his eyes this time, the whole world is inverted. All the blood left in his body is rushing to his head, his ears stuffed with the thundering sound of it coursing through his veins. He looks up - or is it down? - and feels a wave of dizziness as he struggles to bring the ground into focus. It’s difficult because it is moving; V’s whole body is moving, being jolted around rather ungently. It takes him a long moment of confusion to realize he’s being carried by Nero, dangling over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. 

Another blink and V can't even pry his eyes back open this time. He is flying blind through space and then he lands against something soft. He hears squawking and a low growl. "Watch it buster! Easy on the merchandise!"

Ah, Griffon. Always looking out for him in the most abrasive manner possible. There's a distinct sound of rustling, flapping wings, and a weight lands next to him. V feels warmth -the glossy silk of feathers against his skin. Then the sandpaper scrape of shadow's tongue on his face, a rumbling purr in his ear.

V drifts, at last, into true unconsciousness; safe as his familiars remain at his side, ever watchful. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright alright alright alright I got stuck trying to rewrite this bit because my first attempt was just so figging clunky but now we cooking with gasoline so hopefully updates will be more forthcoming from now on.
> 
> Also canon is my bitch so find your own peace with that


End file.
